


Calling the Primarch

by Pyreite



Series: The Shepard's Fate [2]
Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Drama, F/M, Interspecies Relationship(s), Interspecies Romance, Mass Effect 3, Post-Mass Effect 3, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-10
Updated: 2015-02-10
Packaged: 2018-03-11 11:30:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3325835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pyreite/pseuds/Pyreite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[Post ME3 Destruction ending]  </p><p>Sequel to 'Surrender'.  </p><p>Shepard has a few things to say to Primarch Adrien Victus.  She does not appreciate being the turian's political football.</p><p>Warnings: Contains references to citrus without actual lemonade, a cross-species relationship, late-night vid-calls, a conversation with the Primarch's bond-mate, cursing, coarse-language and mentions of turian citizenship.  Discretion is advised.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Calling the Primarch

Hours later, Shepard lay with her fiancé, underneath the florescent lighting recessed into the ceiling of the Main Battery. She grimaced as a rough blue tongue cleansed the last of the dried blood from her shoulder. Garrus’s initial bite had been joined by several more during their slow and sensual love-making. Shepard sighed when he slathered another patch of his teeth-marks with medigel. The ointment deadened the punctured skin, eased the aches and pains, and finally gave the temperamental turian an opportunity to care for his future bondmate.

Shepard smiled when Garrus rubbed his plated-cheek against her healing shoulder. He purred contentedly like a large and happy feline. He was perfectly relaxed in his bare skin, a thin blanket, and the warmth of the nest they’d made inside the Main Battery. The wall of anger, built over hours of arguments, misunderstandings, and ignorance, had crumbled in the wake of their blissful reunion. Shepard was glad that peace and harmony had been restored between them.

She fondly rubbed the plated forearm lying across the cot. Shepard laid her head onto that comfortable pad of muscle past Garrus’s elbow. She used his upper-arm like a pillow and settled down while he tended her love-bites. She dozed as he smeared the last of her injuries with medigel. Shepard griped when she was roused from sleep by gentle shaking.

“ _You’ve already worn me out, Garrus_! _I need to rest before you fire the Thanix again_!”

The turian’s flanging laughter awakened Shepard. She groggily opened her eyes, blinked blearily, and peered over her shoulder slick with medigel. She was confused by Garrus’s amusement until she mentally added one and two together. The innuendo, rife with scandalous suggestion, implied the superiority of turian anatomy. Shepard’s cheeks flushed a lurid cherry-pink.

“You perverted bastard! I didn’t mean it like that!”

Garrus had learned a few human customs since the inception of his relationship with Shepard. She scowled when he looked her in the eye, arched a plated-brow, and winked cheekily. He was quick to capitalise on her drowsy verbal blunder. “Sure you did, Shepard. We both know that I’m the sexiest thing in the room. You’re not bad looking yourself, but you lack a certain charm. I’m sure that a C-Cup isn’t exactly enormous on the galactic stage”.

Shepard elbowed the turian in the belly. She heard his flanging chuckle, rolled her eyes, and would have aimed for his groin if he hadn’t whispered in her ear. “Don’t be cranky, Shepard. You’re beautiful from head to toe. I couldn’t improve on perfection if I tried”. The compliments, laden with love, cooled her ire. Garrus lapped Shepard’s neck until she squirmed.

“I’m not a lollipop, Garrus! Stop licking me raw!”

The turian’s guffaw was deafening. Shepard smacked her forehead. She was the one tripping over her own tongue this time around. Garrus usually unwittingly declared _double-entendre_ that could be horribly misconstrued. Their passionate ‘ _blowing off of steam_ ’ had been more than physically exhausting.

Shepard struggled to gather her lethargic braincells into a semblance of mental discipline. She frowned confusedly when she saw Garrus’s ridged nose, bony mandibles, and gleaming blue eyes looking down upon her. She hadn’t noticed the change in her _centre of gravity_ until she lay flat on her back beneath him. The blanket was flicked back to reveal Shepard’s bare chest, belly, and thighs. Garrus purred reassuringly as he squirted a generous dollop of something cool and oily onto her grazed sternum.

He patiently rubbed the salve into her skin. Garrus was unusually relaxed for the first time in three months. Shepard regretted the decision to suspend their coital activities until the night of their nuptials. The bond-mating ceremony was to take place on Palaven, the reception within the rebuilt walls of Garrus’s childhood home, and their marital night inside a fortified hotel’s honeymoon suite. Shepard was always fatigued after a few rounds with an amorous turian, but the afterglow couldn’t compare to these wonderfully relaxing post-coital sessions.

The privacy of the Main Battery provided a chance to simply spend time together. Garrus could lavish her with affection without interruption. Shepard could reciprocate without distraction. The Reaper War was over, the galaxy was at peace, and now they could have a future together. Garrus hummed pleasantly as Shepard cupped his jaw and spoke the words that made his heart whole.

“You’re the best thing that's ever happened to me”.

Shepard stroked the blue band of Garrus’s family tattoo. The marks were permanently incised into the bridge of his nose, the slope of his cheeks, and the length of his mandibles. Her hand slipped underneath his plated-chin. Garrus stilled as she examined the semi-circular indentations of her teeth. The flanging purr of approval resonated deep inside the broad barrel of his chest.

Shepard admired her handiwork. She was proud of herself for breaking the turian’s tough plated-skin. She held out her free hand for the vial of dextro-based medigel. Shepard gently squeezed Garrus’s fingers as he laid the item onto her palm. She looked him in the eye and apologised for her transgressions.

“I’m sorry for being a complete ass these last couple of days. It couldn’t have been easy for you to watch me twist myself in knots over having to attend another of those damned medal ceremonies. I hate having to strut around like a varren on a leash in front of the very people that screwed us over. The Council, the Alliance, and the rest of the galaxy were already convinced that we were lying about Sovereign, the Collectors, and the Reapers. The War starts on their doorsteps, the Reaper ships land, the Husks pour in, and suddenly the hypocritical bastards start believing”.

Garrus quietened when Shepard released his hand. She broke the seal on her vial of medigel, poured some onto her fingertips, and applied the ointment to the first of his own collection of love-bites. He listened attentively as she confided in him after days of avoidance. The parades, medal ceremonies, and post-war celebrations meant nothing to her when millions of people all over the galaxy needed immediate assistance. Shepard would have felt more useful salvaging supplies from derelict space-stations if she could help the disaster-relief efforts.

“There are thousands of people suffering on the fringes of Council space. Refugees, displaced families, and orphans lack the basic necessities of life because the bureaucrats are more interested in pinning medals onto my navy-blues. I spent last night arguing with Primarch Victus over the vid-comm, after a helpful soul in the Hierarchy informed him, that I’d declined being awarded the turian Nova Cluster. The stubborn bastard didn’t like being told ‘ _No thank you_ ’. He wouldn’t accept my refusal until I suggested that Tarquin, posthumously, was the better candidate”.

Garrus stared at his paramour. Shepard frowned. “What?” The slow shake of Garrus’s head, the clacking of his mandibles, and his rusty flanging chuckle made Shepard regret her defiance. She’d forgotten that Adrien Victus, the current Primarch of Palaven, was a former turian general who staunchly believed in the adage ‘ _Never Surrender_ ’.

Shepard poked her lover in the ribs when his laughter subsided. Garrus continued moisturising her grazed belly, cleared his throat with a hoarse cough, and answered the persistent prodding of her fingers. “You had the gall to say ‘ _No_ ’. You’re unbelievable, Shepard. A good law-abiding turian wouldn’t disobey a direct order from the Primarch of Palaven. You’re not a turian, Shepard, but you _are_ marrying one, which explains why Victus vid-commed me this morning”.

Shepard groaned in annoyance. She hadn’t expected Primarch Victus to act deviously. He’d appealed to the one person that could change her mind. Shepard glowered when Garrus explained the Primarch’s scheme. His disapproving tone made her suspicious.

“Victus appreciated the gesture of condolence, but with Tarquin being his son, he couldn’t accept your recommendation. You’re slated for the medal, Shepard. Victus wants you to attend the ceremony, and he’s willing to sweeten the pot with an honorary Hierarchy citizenship too. You’d be the first legitimate human citizen of Palaven and its numerous turian colonies. Victus knows that without my citizenship and yours, any turian orphans that we’d be fortunate to adopt, wouldn’t be legally recognised as citizens of the Hierarchy”.

Garrus wisely kept his plated-mouth shut when Shepard exploded.

“ _I knew that bastard had an ulterior motive_! _He’s been trying to tempt me away from the Alliance since the end of the War_! _I’ll give him a fucking legitimate Hierarchy citizenship_! _I’ll ram that Nova Cluster down his throat_!”

Shepard nearly rolled off the edge of their cot in her frantic search for the cybernetic bracelet usually worn around her wrist. Garrus wrapped an arm around her waist to keep her from falling. The floor of the Main Battery was littered with their clothes, underwear, and the discarded pieces of his hard-suit. Garrus hastily lay down beside Shepard. The cot was narrow, the fit was tight, but he preferred to be uncomfortable to save her from a nasty tumble onto his steel greaves.

Shepard saw the silvery band of his omnitool. She patted Garrus’s forearm, gripped his wrist, and urged him to contact the disgruntled Primarch of Palaven.

“ _Ping Victus_! _I don’t care if it is two in the fucking morning on Palaven_! _He will realise, once and for all, that I will not be his political football_!”

Garrus humoured his paramour. He wanted to witness the outcome of her argument with the shrewdest general in the Turian Fleet. He reached across Shepard’s prone form, waited for his forearm to be suffused with orange light, and triggered the sensor-array of his omnitool. Garrus’s taloned fingers skittered over the holographic keys as he activated the inbuilt video-conferencing function. The blank holo-screen extended upright by five inches, spread across the length of his forearm by six inches, and blinked for several seconds until the vid-call was accepted.

“I apologise for calling so late but I was hoping to talk to Primarch Victus”, declared Shepard.

Garrus pressed his plated-brow into the crook of her neck and shoulder. He bit his tongue to stop the laughter from bubbling out of his throat. Shepard was facing down the Primarch’s tired, fringeless, and startled bondmate. The female turian, well into her late forties, ogled Shepard’s bare human face. Seconds passed in silence until recognition dawned upon her.

The Primarch’s bondmate gasped. Her hands flew to her plated-mouth in shock. Her emerald eyes widened, she made a horrible flanging screech, and doubled over as if she were in pain. Shepard gaped at the omnitool’s holo-screen. She dug her nails into Garrus’s wrist as she called to the distressed recipient of her vid-call.

“Maam! Are you all right? _Maam_!”

Shepard was alarmed when she heard a resonant flanging keen. The Primarch’s bondmate was bent chest to knee, cradling her plated-face in the palms of her hands, and making a perturbingly sorrowful sound. Shepard recognised a grieving mother when she saw one. She looked to Garrus for guidance. He nuzzled her cheek encouragingly, discreetly pulled the blanket over her bare chest to conceal her nudity, and urged her to use her natural charm.

“Do what you do best”.

Garrus’s unwavering belief bolstered Shepard’s confidence. She’d had plenty of time in the months of her post-War recovery to become acquainted with the darkness of despair. She’d lost countless comrades during her military career. Ashley, Mordin, Thane, Legion and many more had their names recorded on the Normandy SR-2’s memorial wall. Shepard remembered every person with whom she’d served, conversed, and laid to rest in the years before and after her resurrection.

She understood, with perfect clarity, what it was to love and lose friends and family-members. Shepard smiled sadly, kissed Garrus’s plated-cheek, and pressed their brows, noses, and chins together. She savoured the turian gesture of intimacy and understanding. The exchange of pressure, breath, and sensation was profoundly moving. Shepard tensed when she heard a flanging hiss of surprise.

She’d forgotten that they had an audience. The _Relay 314 Incident_ was still fresh in the minds of veteran turian soldiers, like the Primarch of Palaven, who had fought in the siege of Shanxi. Adrien Victus was more intrigued than concerned by Shepard’s love-life, but she doubted that other turians’ would be so open-minded. She was prepared to defend her relationship, when Garrus’s timely intervention, prevented another intergalactic incident. Shepard huffed indignantly when he nipped her chin.

Garrus discreetly dragged his fingers over her ribs. The scrape of his talons on bare skin alerted Shepard to her state of undress. She glanced down; saw the blanket pooled around her waist, and reddened with embarrassment. Garrus had saved her from flashing the Primarch’s bondmate. She was covered from the pelvis down to her toes, but everything upstairs was bare, visible, and gently swaying as she breathed.

Shepard was relieved that her bare back faced the holo-screen. Garrus’s mandibles fluttered nervously. He peered over Shepard’s shoulder, nodded respectfully to the Primarch’s bondmate, and tenderly drew his errant lover into his arms. Shepard felt more than heard Garrus’s gentle reproach. The sub-harmonic frequency, modulated by his vocal chords, vibrated through her skin, leached into her bones, and made her feel small, vulnerable, and foolish.

Garrus’s taloned fingers rubbed soothing circles up and down Shepard’s spine. Minutes passed in silence, seconds ticked by, but he persisted with his ministrations. Shepard sighed when the turian’s taloned fingers kneaded the knotted muscles in the small of her back. She unconsciously relaxed as the tension was massaged away. Her head lolled on Garrus’s shoulder, her crown was nestled underneath his plated-chin, and she was as cosy, languid, and sleepy as a cat basking in sunlight.

Shepard’s eyes were closed. Her face was slack with exhaustion. She dozed in the circle of Garrus’s arms. Her absolute trust in him was apparent to their sole spectator. The Primarch’s bondmate was amazed by the oddity of their union.

“I didn’t believe Adrien when he told me, but to see is to believe. You _have_ chosen to bond with one another despite the differences in your chirality, culture, and species”.

Shepard stirred at the sound of an unfamiliar flanging voice. She drowsily gazed over her shoulder. The Primarch’s bondmate returned her scrutiny through the omnitool’s holo-screen. Shepard noted the lack of the male turian’s _crest of horns_ , the reduced size and shape of the classical turian mandibles, and the softer, rounder, and fuller feminine features. The plated face, weathered by age, lacked Garrus’s hard masculinity, but shared the same glinting avian eyes.

Shepard saw from whom the late Tarquin Victus had inherited his fair complexion, emerald irises, and gentle temperament. The Primarch’s bondmate wore the bold white markings unique to her revered family. The same white bands tattooed into her plated forehead, temples, nose, cheeks, chin, and mandibles, adorned the face of her tenacious spouse. Adrien Victus’s pride was mirrored by his bondmate. She was confident, but her dignity was tempered by the wisdom that came with age and experience.

Shepard wondered on the absence of sadness in her expression. The Primarch’s bondmate seemed more bewildered than unhappy. She was unabashedly staring at the spectacle of a bare-faced human woman entangled with her turian lover. Shepard blushed when Garrus interceded on her behalf. He was perfectly composed despite being caught half-naked on camera snuggling his mortified non-turian paramour.

“I’m proud of Shepard. I know that some of our people will never accept her humanity, but with all due respect Maam, those biased bastards can kiss my cloaca. Shepard saved their asses, mine, and yours from the Reapers. She deserves happiness after years of being used, abused, and abandoned by the very bureaucratic bastards she served as a Spectre. The Spirits intended for me to become her mate and I have no intention of defying their divine will”.

Shepard buried her face in the curve of Garrus’s throat. She inhaled the muskiness of sweat, medigel, and gun-oil on his skin. He smelt like safety, like refuge, like _Home_. Garrus respected the Primarch, but refused to accept the charitable offer, bound with obligation, to make his chosen bondmate an official citizen of the Turian Hierarchy. Shepard heard the fury in his icy flanging accusation.

“Primarch Victus knows that _true_ loyalty can’t be bought by credits, medals, or political perks. My bondmate and I are grateful for his consideration, but the Nova Cluster rightfully belongs to your son, and the soldiers that served under his command. The Ninth Platoon should be commemorated for their sacrifice. Tarquin and his Men gave Shepard the opportunity to negotiate the armistice that saved Palaven. Shepard played the intermediary between the Primarch and Urdnot Wrex, but Tarquin’s dedication to his duty, ensured that our home-world didn’t become a lifeless crater”.

Shepard watched the Primarch’s bondmate endure the criticism of her spouse. She didn’t appear to be outraged or offended by the suggestion that Tarquin’s father refused to acknowledge his contribution to the Reaper War. The turian’s head drooped upon her shoulders. Shepard heard an anguished burst of that same resonant flanging keen.

The Primarch’s bondmate struggled to regain her composure. Garrus rumbled like a thunderstorm. Shepard heard his reproachful growl. Her beloved was agitated. Shepard patted his scarred mandible, swallowed the emotion lodged in her throat, and ignored the burn in the corners of her eyes.

Responsibility great or small was always a burden. Shepard remembered Tarquin’s frantic scramble to defuse the bomb unearthed from the bowels of Tuchanka. She’d watched him tumble into the pit with a tonne of stone, steel, and fire raining down upon him. Shepard fervently hoped that his end had been swift rather than prolonged and painful. Tarquin had completed his mission at the cost of his life, ship, and crew.

Garrus combed his taloned fingers through Shepard’s hair. He cradled her head in the palm of his hand, eased her down onto their single shared pillow, and gently drew the blanket up and over her shoulders again. His head bobbed towards the holo-screen of his omnitool. Shepard unconsciously fulfilled the unspoken request and rolled onto her side to make room. Garrus settled down behind her, possessively slid an arm around her waist, and drew her in close to rest against his chest.

Garrus carefully avoided scraping the bare nape of her neck upon the broad ring of his cowl. The fused bone grew steadily thicker, larger, and spinier as it encircled his throat. Shepard kissed the sinewy muscle of his upper-arm. Garrus looked on amusedly as his forearm, encased in a glowing glove of orange light, was drawn forwards until she could clearly see the holo-screen of his omnitool. Shepard expressed her sincere condolences to the Primarch’s bondmate.

“I’m so sorry for your loss, Maam. I understand what it’s like to lose friends and family-members. The heartache is the worst agony in the world, especially, when you can’t help but see their faces everywhere you go. My parents died in a pirate raid on Mindoir when I was sixteen. I spent months afterwards hoping that the tragedy of losing them, living through the grief, and surviving day by day on my own was just another bad dream”.

Shepard heard Garrus’s distressed whine. She clasped his hand, pressed their palms together, and interlaced their mismatched fingers. The fit of three fingers and five was bizarre but perfect for a couple of star-crossed lovers born worlds apart. Shepard gave Garrus’s hand a reassuring squeeze. She was safe, secure, and content inside their nest of crinkled cot, sheet, and blanket.

Shepard relished the simple pleasure of being enfolded in Garrus’s arms. She waited patiently while he made himself comfortable. He slipped a bony knee between her thighs, shrewdly wrapped his calf around her own, and tucked his spur behind the dip of her kneecap. Shepard respected Garrus’s subtly deceptive actions. She would be unable to escape their impromptu bed unless he allowed her to leave.

Shepard squeezed her legs together. The answering flanging groan made her grin. Shepard winked saucily, wiggled her backside, and deliberately ground down onto the warm thigh trapped between her own. She maintained her serenity while her lover quashed the instinctual urge to burrow into the depths of her body. The Primarch’s bondmate was watching them.

Shepard’s expression softened when she saw the sad plated-face on the omnitool’s holo-screen. She intuitively comprehended the dilemma. The Primarch of Palaven’s schedule was clogged with appointments with various _Heads of State_ focusing on the progress of the many rebuilding projects across the turian home-world. He had no time to spend consoling his distraught bondmate. Shepard wondered if there was a way to lighten the pall of her sorrow.

“Maam, I’m sorry if I’m being overly forward, but I’m aboard the Normandy SR-2. We could be en-route to Palaven in a few hours if you needed to travel to the Citadel. I know that the Primarch will be chairing the conference to expand the current Council seats. I’m fairly certain that he’ll find an excuse to harass me again over turning down the Nova Cluster. I would appreciate any help that you’d be willing to lend me in convincing him to pledge the medal to the Ninth Platoon”.

Shepard grinned when realisation dawned upon the Primarch’s bondmate. She cheekily waggled her eyebrows as the turian’s emerald eyes twinkled with delight. She shared a conspiratorial look with Tarquin’s poor neglected mother. The turian tapped her plated-chin, took a few seconds to mull over the proposal, and snorted airily as she made her decision. The subtle nod of acquiescence, a graceful dip of the head, confirmed that Shepard had a willing accomplice.

The Primarch’s bondmate helpfully informed them of her mate’s most recent travel arrangements. “Adrien was unable to accept your vid-call tonight, Commander Shepard, purely because he left this morning aboard the _Guardian_. He was bound for the Citadel”. The crafty turian made an irresistible offer. “I would be glad to run a little interference on your behalf. I respect Adrien’s responsibilities as the Primarch of Palaven; however, he has forgotten that I need him too. I shall therefore, in due course, remind him of his marital duties to our house, home, and family”.

The Primarch’s bondmate verified Shepard’s suspicions. She already had influential allies in Council space. Wrex, Tali, Liara, and Matriarch Aethyta in addition to their vast Krogan, Quarian, and Asari supporters would naturally tip the scales in her favour. The wife of Adrien Victus, however, was the trump card that Shepard needed. She had learned, through five consecutive years of suicide missions, that the best offence was a strong defence.

“Thank you, Maam”, replied Shepard. She saluted the elated turian, bid her farewell, and cautioned her to pack an overnight bag. “Goodnight, sleep well, and you’ll want to pack plenty of underwear. Tension does terrible things to a male turian. I’ll see you in a few hours, Maam, bright and early. We’ll have plenty of time to discuss how to approach the Primarch before we reach the Citadel”.

Shepard smirked when she heard a round of flanging laughter. The Primarch’s bondmate threw back her head, flared her mandibles, and guffawed like a Krogan choking on a flagon of Ryncol. Game, set, and match. Shepard tapped the holographic keys of Garrus’s omnitool. The holo-screen went black, receded into the glowing glove of orange light enclosing his forearm, and disappeared from sight as she shut-off the sensor-array. The hush inside the Main Battery didn’t last for long.

Shepard evaded Garrus’s amorous nips as she put a call through to the bridge. She stuffed a knuckle between his teeth when he tried to nibble on her shoulder. The enthusiastic lapping of his tongue made her toes curl. Shepard wriggled impatiently as she was embraced by the besotted turian. She was tired from their earlier leisurely pleasures, exhilarated from gaining precious leverage over the Primarch of Palaven, and conscious of Garrus’s _eagerness_.

Shepard regretted teasing him. She was sleepy, a little sore, and seconds from devouring him whole. She licked her lips when Garrus gave her a _standing ovation_. She was mindful of the delicious pressure on the inside of her thighs. Shepard shivered as she called to their resident AI over the intercom.

“EDI, we’re taking a detour. Set course for the Primarch’s residence in Cipritine. We’re going to collect a turian VIP from Palaven. Inform Joker of the adjustment to the flight-plan at the next shift-change. I want him at the helm, ready and waiting, to bid a cheery good morning to the Primarch’s bondmate”.

Shepard bit her lip when the AI’s response was delayed by several seconds. EDI’s return to the Normandy SR-2 had been fraught with technical glitches, mechanical faults, and the continuous generation of errors in her baseline programming code. The systematic corruption of the Reaper code fragments, integrated by Cerberus into her personality matrices, had hindered the AI’s recovery and re-installation aboard the Normandy’s central servers. EDI was functional, but her days of joining Shepard’s squad on missions, were over. Shepard sighed regretfully when she saw EDI’s holographic avatar spring up near the door of the Main Battery.

The blue sphere, reminiscent of a blinking eye, seemed to stare into space. Shepard shared an anxious look with Garrus. He shrugged his shoulders uncertainly. Shepard blushed when the AI, notorious for her unconventional sense of humour, explained the dangers of engaging in intimacy inside the Main Battery. EDI had lost a few of her physical freedoms, but she retained her wit and charm.

“Shepard, I should remind you that the Main Battery is hard-wired with cameras, microphones, and biometric sensors. Jeff, several members of the crew, and a handful of my technicians were curious about your fornications with Officer Vakarian. I denied their access to the audio, video, and biometric-feeds to ensure the preservation of your privacy. However, as the Main Battery is only seventy-five percent sound-proof, they were able to hear some of your vocalisations by pressing their ears against the door. The current betting pool, in favour of Officer Vakarian, speculates that you will be _unable to walk straight_ tomorrow morning”.

Shepard rolled her eyes when Garrus bared his fangs in a roguish grin. She recognised the smugness of a virile male turian in the prime of his life. He was raring to exercise his formidable stamina. Shepard savoured the enthusiasm she inspired with a playful roll of her hips. She enjoyed the flanging moan, the pleasurable slide of pliant ridges, and the wonderful slickness that came naturally to an aroused turian.

“Thank you, EDI. We’ll be more careful next time”, assured Shepard. She rubbed her bed-mate’s forearm. He was ready to continue their coital exertions now that their business with the Primarch’s bondmate had concluded for the night. Shepard reddened when EDI helpfully recommended a more suitable location for their future trysts. The AI was unnervingly perceptive.

“Do not worry, Shepard, today’s surveillance records show your fiancé undertaking several lengthy maintenance checks on the Normandy’s armaments. The subsequent maintenance report has been filed, time-stamped, and forwarded to Tali and Engineer Adams for review. Should you feel the urge to indulge in sexual activity again, Shepard, I believe that the first-floor would better serve your needs. Your personal quarters are readily equipped with a large double-bed, spacious lounge, and private bathroom. You could safely entertain yourself and Officer Vakarian for hours without fear of interruption”.

Shepard had spent the afternoon and evening ensconced with Garrus inside the Main Battery. They had passed the time exchanging apologies, remembering why they loved one another, and conversing about the future. Shepard was startled by EDI’s willingness to lie for them. The AI had denied access to her surveillance feeds, falsified records, and submitted a fake work-report. The initiative showed collusion with members of the crew.

Shepard’s silence spurred EDI to explain her motives. “You are more than my Commanding Officer. You are my friend. I will do what I feel is necessary to protect you. If you have no additional orders, Shepard, than I bid you goodnight”.

The AI’s spherical avatar vanished. Shepard was astonished by EDI’s likely complicity with Joker, Tali, and Adams. The Normandy’s pilot was the probable instigator, but Adams had undoubtedly provided guidance on Alliance regulations, while Tali had known how to fabricate the lie. Shepard blinked rapidly, sniffled, and wiped her watery eyes. She listened attentively when Garrus enlightened her on the reasons behind their crew-mates’ dishonesty.

“Everyone aboard this ship respects you, Shepard. We’re determined to keep you safe. The crew-members of the Normandy aren’t just your allies. They’re your friends for life. We will always remember what you’ve done for us, Shepard, even if the fickle bastards inhabiting the rest of the galaxy forget”.

Garrus cupped Shepard’s cheek when the tears overflowed. He tenderly wiped away the moisture that trickled over his talons. Shepard would no longer walk the path of her life alone. The empathy, comprehension, and certainty of her crew’s solidarity made her weep like a child. Garrus met her rueful gaze.

Shepard’s eyes were wet. Dewdrops glistened like transparent pearls upon her lashes. She was the suffering saviour enduring the guilt of her own survival amidst the innumerable dead. The Reaper War was over, the future secure, and poor Shepard was more concerned with her failures than her greatest success. Her breath hitched when Garrus kissed her lovingly.

Shepard bore the brunt of her lover’s weight. He tugged the blanket from her body, revealed her scars inch by glorious inch, and draped himself over her like a shroud. His plated-skin radiated a constant heat that lessened the midnight chill. Shepard moaned, panted, and breathlessly recited Garrus’s name. She was brought to the brink of ecstasy, rode the pleasurable crest into oblivion, and plunged into the depths of darkness and fatigue.

Shepard surfaced an hour later, sweaty and breathing hard. She grasped Garrus’s shoulders, buried her face in the curve of his throat, and gasped against his skin. “ _I love you_ ”. The whispered words incited a pleased flanging purr. Garrus cuddled Shepard close, murmured his reply, and tiredly surrendered to his weariness.

“I love you too”.

Shepard smiled as she closed heavy-lidded eyes. She was exhausted from their love-making. The staccato beat of Garrus’s heart, throbbing beneath her ear, lulled her to sleep. Shepard dreamed of luminescent blue eyes, the cherubic faces of her children, and a household filled with light, laughter, and happiness. The hope seeded into the fertile soil of her subconscious would influence the immediate and distant future.

 


End file.
